Release
by Nalanzu
Summary: Ken tries to escape the life of an assassin. Pre-Gluehen. Warnings: Attempted suicide, angst, depression.


In the end, everyone dies alone. 

It doesn't matter that he's holding me, that he's shouting at me, that he's desperately trying to stop the blood even if he doesn't know how. At least, I think that's what he's doing. Usually I'm the one holding him; it's a little strange to look up at him instead of the other way around. 

It doesn't matter. He can't touch me any more. No one can. 

His voice is echoing, so I can't make out the words. I'm trying to smile, and tell him it's all right, but I don't think he can hear me. I'm not sure if I'm speaking at all, really. He's turned around now, shouting at someone else, brandishing the bloodstained claws of my bugnuks as if they're important somehow. I don't know why; they don't mean anything to me any more. 

I'm so close to freedom. 

I'm cold; I remember that it was warm while I was writing the letter 

_– dear Omi – _

but it's freezing now. He's clinging to me now, head on my chest, one hand clasped around my wrist so tightly it should be painful. I can't really feel the pain. Or… I can, but it isn't important. It's only the last reminder of life, and I won't be able to feel it for much longer. 

Please, Omi, let me go. 

He smoothes the hair out of my eyes, and the strands cling wetly to my face. His fingers are red, red and glistening. I would look away if I could; I've seen enough blood in my life. More than enough. I don't want to see it ever again. 

That's why I'm here now, isn't it? 

I could say I've had a good life, a fulfilled life, a life worth living, but that would be a lie. I'm nothing more than a killer, no matter what lines we were fed about protecting the innocent or hunting the dark beasts. We're all guilty of something, and there are no innocents. That bothered me at first, but later it didn't seem to be significant. Take out the target, fulfill the mission, survive… that was all that was relevant, until I finally realized what I was doing. The worst part, though, was starting to like it. 

I can't live with that. 

He's crying. I didn't mean for him to cry. I reach up to brush the tears away; it's almost too difficult, but I do it. I use the back of my hand so I don't replace his tears with my blood. That would be sacrilegious or something. Or maybe just morbid. I don't know, and I don't care, but I don't want my last sight to be my blood on his face. 

Damn. He's reached up to catch my hand in his, hope spreading over his features, and crimson stains his skin anyway. He's calling to someone else, the words shattering in my ears like so many shards of glass. He's gone back to pressing down on my wrists, the tone of his eternally splintering voice somewhere between desperation and reassurance. 

It's meaningless, Omi, can't you see that? 

I can't feel him any more. I can just barely see him, so I know he's still there. My cheek stings suddenly, and his hand moves away. He's a little clearer now; he's got that look on his face that he used to get in the field, when he was giving an indisputable order. Even Aya backed down from that look, before. 

For a moment, I feel sad. I truly did not want to cause him pain, but I couldn't do otherwise. I hope that he can understand that, given enough time. 

I try to smile again, and I think I've succeeded. He looks horrified, and sad, and… He's kissing me. Just for a few seconds, but vague memories – good ones, mostly – surface. I want to tell him that this isn't his fault. Maybe I did. The letter… I think that's part of what I said in the letter. 

He's trying to stay with me, or to keep me with him, but it's useless. We're apart, separated, regardless of our physical proximity, and the only emotion I have left is relief. The voices of the dead can't reach me here in this final utter solitude. 

The light is getting brighter, and it's warm. Sound roars in my ears, but nothing's clear. The last thing I see is his eyes, impossibly blue. 

* * *

Ken opened his eyes slowly. White filled his vision, white light and formless shadows. He blinked, and his sight resolved itself into coherence. 

"Ken? How do you feel?" 

He looked carefully towards the voice, a sense of unreal yet utter clarity permeating his senses. Omi sat next to him, expression worried, dark circles under his eyes. "Ken?" A relieved smile blossomed across his youthful features. "Ken!" 

And Ken knew that Omi had pulled him back. 

I don't have the strength to do it again. I failed. Failed. Why did you do it, Omi? Why couldn't you just let me go, leave me in peace? Wasn't the letter clear enough? 

Omi's cheek was still stained with his blood. Empty, Ken turned his face away. 

_owari_


End file.
